


The Gym Was Empty Today

by Umbreon_ly



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: After Iwaizumi's hot body and hot soul, Banter, Fluff, Horny OC - Freeform, Innuendo, Love Confessions, Love confession with good ending, M/M, Matsukawa is noted to be a "walrus courtesan", OC is noted to be "Seijoh Terushima", Pining, Romance, Wants to wrestle Iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbreon_ly/pseuds/Umbreon_ly
Summary: Iwaizumi/OC.Misumi Rin gets a 69% on his math test on purpose and confesses his feelings to Iwaizumi Hajime on purpose. One of these things was planned. One will even last.(Twitter friend made anOCfor a twitter reply meme and I made a writing exercise out of him. *Art inside*.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	The Gym Was Empty Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [northly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northly/gifts).



> Written for a twitter friend who drew an OC based on a twitter reply meme. Then she drew him and Iwaizumi. I liked him and made him into a writing exercise to get my brain off of my struggling WIPs. So even though I wrote it pretty on the fly, I would appreciate any concrit. The OC's creator, Northly, made lots of twitter art of him, go see.  
> [Art 1: Profile pic](https://twitter.com/northly/status/1225558793855041536)  
> [Art 2: CONFESSION](https://twitter.com/northly/status/1225558383274733570)  
> [Art 3: Jealousy](https://twitter.com/northly/status/1219405572363161600)  
> [Art 4: Misumi is born](https://twitter.com/northly/status/1219393106845540353)
> 
> Here we go, a love confession in the Aoba Johsai gym. Takes place in a vague floating timeline where we are pretending Seijoh still has a chance to make it to Nationals. They won’t.

“I am disgusted,” Misumi said, holding his folded-up math test. “Yae-chan, I might need CPR. Can you tell my parents I loved them? I loved them on weekdays, anyway.”

“I can’t believe you got the 69% on _purpose._ ”

Before Watari could say anything else, Misumi interjected and assured him it was an accident, definitely, but Kyoutani owed him money now. This he emphasized to Yae with a sideways glance and a wink. She couldn’t have hidden that smiling and giggling of hers at gunpoint. Her weird friend was even smirking, too. Kyoutani wasn’t, even though Misumi had done him the grace of briefly making two girls not deathly afraid of him.

He kept expounding the many deeds of public good he could do with a thousand yen, namely supporting small local melon bread farms, to while away a little time. Kyoutani would stay rooted in this spot at the edge of the court till he either starved or was told to move by Iwaizumi. Both of them knew Iwaizumi would soon be coming and the girls would be going. Oikawa had politely asked them to leave them be after 3:30 for an important practice.

The gym door opened and then his mouth did on perfect cue, ready to shout a welcome to Iwaizumi before any of the others.

Through the open door came, “Would you rather have sex with a walrus, or—” and then came Matsukawa and Hanamaki, still in their uniforms. Misumi kept his welcoming smile plastered neatly on. He chimed a delightful, rehearsed welcome to them both and immediately forgot whatever the hell he’d just said.

“Hey, Misumi. Second-years came early today,” Matsukawa said, interrupting the posited walrus sex. Yae laughed again, while her friend frowned. It was enough of a change in conversation that he could move with it.

“It’s starting to get crowded and gross in here, maybe some particular unwashed caveman forgot their deodorant! Yae-chan, I don’t want you to die from poisonous gases in here—”

“I didn’t _forget_ , you fuck,” Kyoutani spat at him, and the gym floor a little, too.

Yae jerked away from the single drop of flying spit. “Shion-chan, isn’t almost 3:30, that’s their practice start time, I forgot!” Yae blurted like a dim lightbulb that turned on at last. “Please work hard, Misumi-san! Tell Oikawa-san we said hi! I’m coming to your next game against Fukurodani, too.” 

Misumi chittered a friendly reply to them, and one to the two third-years who passed the girls and then him. He even assured Kyoutani he didn’t really smell and just had wanted the girls gone. But Watari did sniff his jersey once before wandering off to the ball cart. Misumi didn’t wander, but attended the door, still not even changed. Watari came back and thankfully didn’t comment on his sentry duty. But he was frustrated by now, so to deflect any possible curiosity anyway, he pointed at the retreating Yae, and clicked his tongue. Watari took that answer and let it be.

When he wasn’t looking, Misumi yanked a comb out of his pocket and smoothed his hair.

The door opened; his foot pivoted; the two new visitors opened the gym door to what appeared to be the sight of Misumi walking casually by to the ball cart. “Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san!” he waved.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said in return, and he turned to toe his shoes off.

And he shouldered his bag off, moving the strap over his heavy arms. And he removed the white blazer after it, folding it with gentle movements of his hands that Misumi watched. And he was left in the blue shirt and red tie, which he pulled halfway loose down his neck. And still Misumi watched.

Sensing movement as mice sensed hawks, Misumi’s eyes flicked to the right to see Oikawa’s dazzling smile. He’d removed nothing.

“You guys are so late I almost went rogue and became captain,” he chuckled at them. “Kyoutani already owes me money, Watari scored higher than me in math and I think Hanamaki had sex with a walrus? It’s chaos in here. Iwaizumi-san, we need your leadership.”

“Do we fuck walruses in here now, Rin? You'd stick your dick in anything,” snapped Kyoutani, but no one bothered to respond.

Oikawa’s blazer slid off his shoulders; he whipped it carelessly to the wall by the door. “If the underclassmen go rogue, I’ll have to lock them in the gym till they starve or turn cannibal. And Kyoken-chan will turn first. Misumi-san, we could use your hair to mop up any bloody remains.”

Oikawa had no great opinion on curly hair or undercuts or underclassmen, only that these traits were in front of him, eyeing Iwaizumi. He tolerated it now because there was still come space between them. Not for much longer. Misumi let him know that by grinning and showing his teeth.

But only a second or so had passed; he hadn’t missed a beat and still wouldn’t. “I’ll take one for the team, Oikawa-san! I’ll go bald and save everyone from death. Hair grows back, and I mean, I wouldn’t lose any height from not having it.” _God,_ that fit so well because his hair actually looked great today. He even jerked his head to the side, to toss his hair just so. Iwaizumi hadn’t seen, though.

“How tall are you again?” asked sweet little Watari, jogging over from behind them.

“Ohh,” and one hand went sweeping through his hair, long and combed portions and then the shaved underside. He even kept his eyes averted so Oikawa could freely look. “I measured last month and I think I was…185…point _two!_ Ah, that’s taller than Oikawa-san.”

“Oh, it is,” Watari agreed, his timing impeccable.

“It’s like seven millimeters!” Oikawa said with a wave of his hand. “It’s—”

It didn’t matter what it was because his tolerance for it suddenly dried up. It was annoying that Oikawa was even here when he was supposed to have a meeting with a teacher, but he’d shown up alongside Iwaizumi instead.

The captain was still talking but Misumi stopped caring, even pettily. He strode directly past him and approached Iwaizumi instead, who had tucked his shirtsleeves in to bare his shoulders. They were stocky and rounded from infinite spikes and arm exercises. They bulged out of the armholes a little, like they fucking always did. Misumi saw those and nothing else.

He fell against Iwaizumi and slung one arm over his neck. Their faces ended up close enough that bits of their hair mingled together, which made him physically incapable of not smirking.

“Iwaizumi-senpai, will you do extra spikes for me after practice?”

Iwaizumi looked unbothered. He smelled like the fresh outdoors and felt like a fucking dream. He looked Misumi in the eye to answer: “I guess so, sure. You wanting to work on something specific?”

Fuck yeah he did. “I want to set for you,” he replied. “I want to make our spikes as effective as possible, I need to _move_ right, I always feel like, like my body’s moving eighty percent how I want it and not a hundred, when we do a certain play—”

“You need the muscle memory,” Iwaizumi nodded, but Misumi heard almost none of his further explanation.

For a few seconds that voice was right in his ear and it roundhouse kicked him directly into a fantasy. Iwaizumi’s voice was to be remembered, and shit did he remember it.

 _‘Iwaizumi!’_ came that familiar echo. He liked to pretend he was shouting it in a percussive, crowded gym. The ace runs to answer him. Misumi’s set is smooth as a cut gem. Iwaizumi is rocketing to the offensive. They’re in a tournament in Tokyo, or abroad. Or just the school gym sometimes.

 _‘Iwaizumi?’_ he questioned on his first day of school in this town. Most kids knew Iwaizumi and soon he knew, too. Everyone knew him because he was worth knowing. Misumi met him on tryout day for the volleyball team, when he was cross-armed and sharp-eyed and the best judge the team had. He also had the best-looking body without fucking question.

Unfailingly, he lent Misumi a hand and an understanding ear when he didn’t deserve it. He lent like he would never run out of strength to do it. One day in April when he fell hard on the gym floor, he bent slightly and gave him his hand to pull him up— _shit I can’t get up he’s so hot, god_ —and his hand shook when he reached for Iwaizumi’s. Once those fingers closed around him and pulled him up, he truly never recovered.

What he’d known for a while became hard to ignore. At midnight he practiced scenarios of telling him stupid bullshit like: ‘ _Iwaizumi-san! I’ll take your hand to help me up but only if I can take you out. Do you have a boyfriend? Do you want one?’_

He could tell him right now, actually. In his head it was already midnight.

 _‘Iwaizumi-san. Lemme tell you,_ ’ Misumi thought, encircling Iwaizumi’s torso with his arm. It wasn’t slung over, but pulling him closer with the fingers spread over his chest. He really did feel hot to the touch, Iwaizumi—

“IWAIZUMI!” shouted some unwelcome bitch. Everyone who had seen him trying to pull Iwaizumi into his arms had to look away just briefly.

Coach Irihata was waving a clipboard probably with some important third-year-college-life-career papers on it. But he barely registered for a second compared to Kyoutani and Oikawa, standing five feet away and boiling where they stood. They bared their teeth like angered dogs. They were shoulder to shoulder as they glared at him, just like that day in April when he fell down.

It made them united in their cunty little hate campaign against him but like, so fuckin’ what. They got to have Iwaizumi all the time, especially Oikawa. He even trusted Oikawa. For real, for shit that mattered to Iwaizumi, there was always Oikawa.

 _Hey, fuuuuuck you,_ Misumi said with his tongue and one finger.

“I don’t know about you, but _walrus courtesan_ was the _only_ thing on my career aptitude test,” Matsukawa supplied from nowhere. He trotted past the two enraged players with no regard to their blatant vitriol.

No one had any regard for Misumi’s moment of the whole year being ruined by a damn teacher, either. At last, Iwaizumi grabbed at the wrist that had tried to trap him and pushed him away. It was so fast that Misumi whined as he was pushed back.

The many colorful memories Iwaizumi giving his time and his hands were collectively poisoned by the sight of his jealous groupies. Kyoutani and Oikawa positioned themselves a little apart so that they screened their ace from him now. It could have been the right time if they weren’t having their stupid fit right now.

He wanted to throw a fit right now. But it would be stupid. It would deflate him even more. Oikawa would throw fits and still always win. Iwaizumi was hidden behind him now and always would be. Oikawa must have known it, too, because his defensiveness melted away a few seconds later. He knew there was nothing to defend against, not really. Kyoutani grabbed a ball off the ground and stomped away from them both.

Oikawa and Misumi exchanged a few words; Misumi didn’t remember what they were. But whatever they were made the rest of the practice blur till he didn’t see it, didn’t remember it.

He was ready in that moment. It could have been right now, he’d thought. But not anymore. It still gave him a real shiver to think about saying something today. The exact day for his _something_ was never exactly planned, but it was never _today_.

Today, he went about practice as usual after Iwaizumi came back. Hanamaki went after more of his sets than usual in a two-man-team practice. Yahaba almost did a backflip. Iwaizumi spiked, spiked, spiked till it hurt his ears. So much louder than when he fantasized it in a pretend gym in his head.

Kyoutani left first. He walked out without changing. Watari sprinted towards a waiting car. Matsukawa wore his blazer as a fashionable scarf when he left. Oikawa—was gone.

Misumi waited for three long jittery minutes just in case. But he never appeared again. Even his clothes and shoes were gone from the wall. Only his and Iwaizumi’s remained. Otherwise the gym was empty.

Oh shit oh _shit!_

It didn’t even matter why he’d left them alone. No way was he capable of thinking on it now. No way was he stable. In lieu of thinking, he reached for the folding comb again. Stroke, stroke, stroke, three or four good times. A whisk to puff it up at the end. It worked, he had thoughts again after that.

“You’re fast and limber, but it’s control we need. Tightness and muscle memory—” Iwaizumi was saying.

He’d washed the sweat of typical practice away and changed back into the school uniform, leaving the tie loose again and the shoes off. Misumi realized he’d mirrored him unconsciously by pulling his own tie down in that same way. Iwaizumi’s favorite way.

Anyway, what _ever_ the fuck he said back, he didn’t remember either. There was a ball cart nearby. Iwaizumi gave it a firm shove towards him so he could take a ball without having to walk over to it or change position. It limply struck him in the leg.

“Owww, my thighs!” he whined. He swayed a little, pretend-wounded, and smiled like he meant it.

Iwaizumi shoved the cart again, harder, so it hit against Misumi’s thighs. This time he actually was pushed back a little. At this, Iwaizumi smiled like he meant it, too. Like he really meant to make Misumi stop breathing.

“Right in the muscle memory,” he chuckled. The sound drew Misumi closer. “Let’s start. We’ll stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here. To help me,” he said aloud. It didn’t come out right or in a full sentence, but he didn’t regret it, either.

Iwaizumi just nodded at him. “Give me some close-net sets,” he commanded, and Misumi came close enough that the ball cart now blocked his way. “I noticed that when you’re near the line is when your aim sways around the most. I’ll help you work on it, so I’ll stand over there and you aim at me.”

 _‘I wanna help_ you _do something,’_ he thought like a pathetic whimpering sap. _‘I wanna. Tell you. Today.’_

“Iwaizumi-san. I want to be the setter you always look for on the court. You have one, but it’s not me.” That second part wasn’t supposed to come out. What the fuck. What the fuck _ever._

What the fuck, that really came out and Iwaizumi had really heard that in real life. His eyes had gone a little wide. But he kept listening, not interrupting or commenting, because he was patient. He was so patient and good and handsome like washed-up actors wished they could be again. His tie was loose and Misumi wanted to play with it. He wanted to do a lot now that they were alone. Now that the gym was empty.

The gym was empty _today. ‘Fucking do it.’_

Misumi grabbed the edge of the ball cart with both hands and shoved it away. It was flung under the net, out of reach, while Misumi marched forward. Iwaizumi’s eyes got a little wider as he got closer. But he stayed where he was, till Misumi was standing over him.

“I gotta tell you something.”

No sounds. They were just listening to each other nervously breathe. Both of them, afraid. 

“Okay, tell me. I’m listening.”

He smiled down on him fondly. “You always listen to me. Even though I’m a dumbass bitch,” Misumi said with a sigh. After that single breath, he went for it: “I’m great in this team because of you. I learned to work hard and give a shit ‘cause of you. And I want give back to you. I wanna do things for you. I, I want—” His eyes flicked downwards as Iwaizumi’s mouth suddenly parted. He was close enough to grab his chin in one hand if he wanted, close enough to open his fine mouth with the press of a thumb. Misumi’s eyes went down there; Iwaizumi saw.

No denying he understood when they looked at each other again. And no need to start being shy. “I like you, Iwaizumi-san. A lot. Since tryout day. You’re so bomb-ass hot your body makes my head spin and I have drooled looking at you before.” 

“U-uh, than—”

“Not to objectify your body or anything. Just like, your arms. Or you ass. And your face, actually. I know you’re tough and all but you got a damn cute face, you are cute as _fuck._ ” Iwaizumi’s stammering went silent, the ears were going red. “And, if you like guys at all, I was thinking—”

“I do. Actually.” Iwaizumi brusquely interrupted. Misumi’s head jerked back slightly like he’d been slapped on the nose. And in the soul. “I don’t advertise it much. Not really a secret, either, but…I mean, I do.”

_Oh! Fuck! YES!_

“You do.”

“Yeah.”

Even though he felt full of a warm, grateful glow, he chose to say, “Do you _like_ Oikawa?” and it made the growing blush on Iwaizumi’s cute ears pause where it was. Misumi saw that and looked for other tells on his face or body language. There was no guilt or sheepishness but a confused lack of clarity, like neither one of them actually knew the answer.

Misumi wanted to guide him as he had been guided. Maybe he wasn’t wise enough to guide Iwaizumi in anything, but he so wanted to. He tried. He reached for Iwaizumi’s large, rough hand, holding it trapped between both of his. “I wanna be like him,” he admitted. “I want to do for you, the things Oikawa-san does for you. Every role he has for you, I want it. He sets for you and makes the game’s victories for you. And he’s always with you. And—”

There was a significant pause that both of them were waiting for. “If he does _anything else_ for you, I want to do that, Iwaizumi. I want you to go out with me, if you want me. Or if you just wanna try.”

With that, it was all out. The truth was out of his mouth and mind. Misumi felt out of breath but dared not breathe too loud or move too much. All his focus was out of himself and entirely on Iwaizumi’s face, which was turning this new information around and around.

“You really wanna go out with me?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“If you’re fucking with me—”

“I’d love to fuck you.”

“ _Wh—_ ”

A bubble burst and Misumi’s personality fell out of its careful hiding spot. He couldn’t help laughing, but didn’t break eye contact. “I’m sorry. A little. It just came out. I don’t mean to make you…well, no matter what, it’s true.”

“You can—can wait till after our first damn conversation about this to say that,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He finally, gently, pulled his hand free. “You know, you’re actually not the first to say this. But I can…I want to say something too, this time. Like…you’re hot, too, Misumi. There.”

His eyes were lit up before and were lighthouse beacons now. “Really? For real? Don’t play with my emotions, Iwaizumi-san, because _I’m_ not doing that here. But I play-wrestle if you’re into that.”

“I could wrestle.”

_‘Did I get hit by a car, is this heaven—’_

“You’re slim, though, and I might yank your hair on accident. It’s so long it’s almost in your eyes. And if you stab me with your comb, I’ll scalp you.”

Here he was, engaging in playful banter with a young man who thought he was hot. Iwaizumi thought he was hot. “So back to how you think I’m hot,” Misumi directed. “I had no idea you thought that.”

“You don’t know shit about my thoughts,” he scoffed back.

“So tell me some.” Misumi pressed a little forward. He cast a little shadow over Iwaizumi’s face and collar.

Iwaizumi moved his torso a little, like he’d been physically touched. Tsubaki and Yae and some other third one had done the same. So familiar that he felt stronger. He leaned even closer till curls of his hair were touching Iwaizumi’s forehead.

“Iwaizumi-san. Waitiiiiing. For thoughts.”

“I was. About. To say one.”

“Okay. Please. Do it.” Misumi mimed, sticking his tongue out just a little.

Iwaizumi stayed still in the face of his oppressive, waiting smirk. “I was walking by that night in summer break when you fucked Tsubame in her mom’s car.”

Misumi’s grin hit a speedbump of sorts.

“I thought it was some people from the college nearby, but I recognized your voice. And your hair.”

That was two months ago. Misumi blinked, searching for a reaction. And remembering the leather seats. “So. You…you had a thought? About that?”

“I did. ‘Cause. I stood and watched. For a little—”

_OH—FUCK?_

“—For less than a minute. For thirty seconds, probably. But it wasn’t ‘cause I was disgusted, or _just_ ‘cause I was curious, but I saw you and heard it, and I’m a basic human with fucking blood in my veins and an attraction to guys. So I went home and finished a job that you started in my head.”

Oh. Fuck. Now there was a lot of thoughts. With catlike mental reflexes, Misumi clawed at the biggest ones. “You jacked off to thoughts of me fucking Tsubaki? To _me_? What did you do?”

“Her name’s Tsubame, for one thing,” he growled, but the red ears were in bloom again.

The speed bump inverted into a ditch. “N-Not in her mom’s car, it wasn’t,” Misumi chuckled.

“Did you call her Tsubaki? While having sex with her, or before?”

“She had a _good time_ and do _not_ change the subject,” Misumi commanded. “And do not hide behind any modesty here, because I am literally right here wanting to hear this. Look at my face and tell me how you finished your ‘job’. Look at me.”

He already was and they were incredibly close. Iwaizumi clutched fearfully at his composure. “I just. Jacked off. Normally. And I thought about touching your hair. I like the undercut. You have thick hair and it looks good.”

“ _Iwaizumiii_ ,” he said. It came out in a long, breathy laugh that had Iwaizumi shaking, though he tried to stay stiff. “You’re so fucking cute, I wanna bite you. You really think about my pretty hair when you stroke your cock? You do that a lot? You coulda told me.”

“I would never fucking say that and you were busy having six girlfriends anyway, you skank,” Iwaizumi spat.

“There’s no girlfriends, Iwaizumi, there’s just been _girls_. Do you see Tsubame hanging out with me now? Or Rina? I don’t stick around girls that long. Not in their cars, anyway, I mean. But a guy, I’d prefer to stick with.”

“That’s real fucking suave. If you’re trying to sell yourself as a date, you’re failing.” 

“I am really fucking serious,” he said firmly. Iwaizumi was firmly pressed against the pole of the net now, his back against the thick mat wrapping around it. “I wouldn’t stick with this team if I wasn’t serious. _You_ make me wanna be serious. Especially now. If you were just some girl, we’d be kissing ten minutes ago.” The idea sparked in his idea shortly after the words had already been said. Better late than never. “And you like me, too. You ever kiss a guy? You wanna kiss me?”

Misumi stood over him, teasing him with a little dusting touch of hair against his head again. Iwaizumi was trapped. He pushed back just slightly, till their foreheads almost touched.

“Maybe I’d rather go home and just have thoughts about it,” he replied. “I might kiss on the first date, though.”

“What thoughts are you gonna have about me?” he asked playfully. He rolled his hips forward against Iwaizumi’s, playfully still, watching his face for a reaction to anything happening below. “Hey. Do you use toys when you have _thoughts,_ Iwaizumi-san? Or your hand only?”

This time he faltered a little. Not in surrender or anything blatantly sexy, but a little embarrassment. Misumi gave him a beat of time to explain. “Matsukawa told me about things I should buy. But that was a while ago. I don’t have anything like that.”

That would be fantastic new territory. “I can tell you what to use. And how. That’s prime _second date_ conversation,” Misumi said, grinning. He was so excited and so still. And ready. “And it’d be nice to be the one teaching you something. I’ll be a good and patient mentor for my sweet student. Whatever he wants to learn. You can depend on me. Iwaizumi. I’ll make everything good for you. I wanna make you feel good.”

“You’re hard.”

“You too. And I’m not even dreaming,” Misumi said. By now, he had accomplished trapping Iwaizumi with a hand by his head and one holding on to his hip. It felt stupid to not be kissing already, but it was imperative to look at him, so he _knew._ “I can stop dreaming about it whenever you’re ready, Iwaizumi. I will fuck you to tears.”

Instead of parting his lips and making way for Misumi’s tongue to slip out and lick them—which he was fucking waiting for—Iwaizumi barked out a laugh. He shoved his hand up against Misumi’s throat. His tongue definitely slipped out then.

“Fat fucking chance,” his upperclassman chuckled.

The heated bubble of tension was top shelf quality and Iwaizumi had popped it. And Misumi’s throat hurt more than a little and his dignity hurt more than that. He’d definitely had his upperclassman trapped, but that not-totally playful strike had actually shoved him back. After he got his footing and coughed twice, he caught sight of Iwaizumi a little to the side of where he’d just been. Like he was circling him now. He looked prepared and confident, like he would during a game.

“Like I couldn’t throw you off of me like a leaf.”

“If we wrestle, you’ll find out you’re wrong,” Misumi teased back. But he had to cough again. “You’re probably stronger, yes. But I’m faster.”

“I’m _so_ scared. Attack me with your little salon comb so I can _laugh_ myself to tears,” Iwaizumi jeered. In his right hand, he waved the beloved blue fold-up comb that Misumi loved and had named. He couldn’t remember the last time another pair of hands besides his own had even touched it. He held up a weak and open hand.

“G-Give—that back?” he asked. “Or I will fucking—”

To his surprise, Iwaizumi did, handling it gently. His fingers lingered against his hand. “At practice tomorrow, we’re doing close-net sets for real. If you actually wanna go out somewhere this weekend, talk to me then.”

“Ohh,” Misumi gasped a little. He didn’t have to— _reach_ for that goal anymore. “In front of the others, too?”

“Sure.”

“Hell yeah.”

“And fix your tie.”

“Why? You like it like that.”

Iwaizumi ducked his head. But he was standing just a foot or two away. It barely hid his huge grin at all; maybe it wasn’t meant to. “See ya tomorrow.”

He waved goodbye casually, nicely, like this parting was on entirely good terms. Misumi kept his hand up in a reciprocating wave like an old timey sailor’s wife who would not see her husband for months more. He kept watching Iwaizumi ready to leave as though that were really the case. As though he wouldn’t see him again in maybe fourteen hours.

The schoolbag went over his shoulder, where the muscles bulged even more prominently now that the shirtsleeves were tucked in. The shoes slid on his feet with comfort and ease. He didn’t fix his own tie. He glanced back at Misumi glued in place once more before walking out the open door. 

Misumi was left alone, working his lip between his teeth and grinning at the same time. _‘Oh fuck. It worked. It really did.’_

He turned around. Looked around. Jumped around. Screamed the word _YEEEEEESSSS_ till the gym walls and ceiling vibrated like he’d stimulated them sexually. These walls _were_ stimulated sexually over the last fantastic five minutes and damn, they would be again.

Today was the day he stopped only ever saying this shit to himself in bed at midnight like a pathetic little sap. Or like Tsubame. Her name was fucking Tsubame. Thank _God_ they didn’t share any classes.

Today Iwaizumi Hajime accepted his feelings and asked for more of them. All the time wasted and without them did hurt, but at least it would stop. No more of having to stare at him from behind and in secret. Tomorrow, he would walk past Oikawa and Kyoutani both and truly not give a _shit._

It might throw the team off-balance, he acknowledged. If two huge pieces lost their focus, it would harm practice. But that was a sacrifice he was willing to make! Until a game came up. Tomorrow, he really would practice the close-net sets. They ought to be as close to mathematical perfection as could be, for Iwaizumi, and Seijoh, too. They were Seijoh together.

Misumi pushed the ball cart into its place in the storage closet. He nearly floated over the floor along the way. He floated to the open gym door, heart beating, beating, beating.

In quick succession in his head: a fantasy in that storage closet, in the club room, in his room while his mom was working, in Iwaizumi’s house that he’d never been to. And in front of the school, too. In front of Oikawa. As he walked, his fingers were unconsciously mimicking that motion of pulling on Iwaizumi’s tie. He’d pull it off one day. Next week or next month or at the third years’ graduation if he needed to.

When he flicked off the lights and the closed the door, the gym was finally empty.

**Author's Note:**

> The gym was empty because Iwaizumi asked everyone to leave early, thinking pre-story that Misumi had something troubling on his mind, like maybe his parents were divorcing or something equally serious...was my first thought process. Or maybe Oikawa was the one to clear the gym. I'm not sure what his role in this is. Maybe he's down for Iwaizumi to have a boyfriend. Maybe he's not. Maybe he will tell Misumi to be nice to him and give him instructions on proper Iwachan care. Maybe there will be a threesome. Maybe Oikawa will get hit by a bus and die. I cannot say, as this is not my OC, just my writing exercise. The internet says "Original character, do not steal!" and yet I steal'd. 
> 
> Other notes: "Walrus courtesan" made me laugh so it stayed / Tsubame and Tsubaki are apparently both quite uncommon names, I am a fool for trying to pluck Japanese names straight from anime / I'm not sure if this is, as the ship lingo goes, OC/Iwa or Iwa/OC, or if they'd switch around. I wrote as though that was an unsure thing. I think Misumi might have assumed the former, till Iwaizumi bitchslapped him away, but he was very horny in that moment. They have discovering to do and in the meantime, OP might give a verdict, might not / I normally put a lot of thought and care into meaningful titles and summaries; this time I admit I gave less effort and could not think of a better title. I am a little irritated about it but am willing to leave it. The beauty of fanfic is I get to care or not care about that as much as I want. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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